Page 14 of Demon Touched

“Come on,” Filippa says to me, her voice tight. “If we slip out now, Hasteed won’t notice, and I’d rather not watch this. I’m sure Zinah would prefer we didn’t too.”

I don’t need telling twice. I turn my back on the scene, following her inside. We walk in silence for a moment before I summon up the courage to ask a question I’m not sure I want the answer to.

“Is…” I exhale. “Is the damage permanent? Will she still be able to fly?”

Filippa doesn’t look at me. “The feathers will grow back eventually, but it’s unlikely she’ll heal in time for the first trial. You can still fly a bit with your wings clipped, but not very far or for very long.”

I don’t say anything to this, taking a moment to absorb what I’ve seen. The ephilium don’t fuck around with these rules of theirs, and I’d do well to remember that.

The question is, will I be ready in time for the first trial? Am I even more screwed than an ephilium with clipped wings?

Chapter 5

Leah

I’m relieved when I find out fledglings get private rooms. The unoccupied bedroom Filippa finds for me is small and plain, but perfectly comfortable. And here, there’s no need to put on a strong front for anyone. I can let down my guard and take a minute to process everything the day has held—all the turmoil, all the horror.

I began the day in bed with Syrus and ended it in a completely different world, with visions of ephilium being burned or plucked by their own kind running through my head.

My head that still feels so empty without Syrus. I keep thinking I feel him outside my mental barriers, running an experimental touch over them, looking for a weak spot. I hate the part of me that wants to let him in. I’ve got so much to fight against here. I shouldn’t have to also fight against myself.

The next morning, I rise to the sound of fledglings chattering outside my door, feeling like I’ve barely rested at all.

There’s a box already in my room that Filippa told me yesterday has standard issue uniform in it. I’m just buckling the strap of a leather breastplate when she knocks and calls through the door.

“Come in!” I answer.

She pauses in the doorframe, looking me over with a pensive expression. Not for the first time, I get the sense that Filippa thinks a lot she doesn’t say.

“You look good,” she says. “Like you fit in.”

I turn my body and glance over my shoulder at her. The breast plate naturally has an open section at the back where it’s meant to sit around your wings. “You mean, even without a certain set of appendages?” I ask skeptically.

“Even without them,” she says. “Some people just have that look, you know? Like they naturally know the handle of a blade from the pointy end.”

I laugh. “Thanks, you’re too kind.” I chew my lip, thinking. “Captain Pellery talked about me getting wings like it was a possibility. Do you think…?” I trail off, embarrassed by my question.

She looks apologetic. “I don’t really know much about nephilim. But if you grew up in Strata, it makes sense they didn’t come in yet. Especially if your magic only just started showing.”

I raise my eyebrows at her, wondering how she knows that.

“I got a letter from the general last night,” she explains. “He told me about the seraphim and how you didn’t actually have much choice about entering the trials. I mean, he didn’t put it like that, of course, but I read between the lines.”

“Yeah, a series of deadly tests wasn’t exactly high on my list of desired tourist experiences when I decided to come here,” I say.

She tilts her head, as if weighing up whether to say something. “I have to admit I’m kind of relieved. I thought you might have gotten caught up in the whole eternal glory thing and made some stupid choices.”

“Nope,” I say, understanding her aloofness yesterday a little more. It seems Filippa might not fully share her grandfather’s views. “Any stupid decisions I’ve made were entirely free of glory in the motivation department. I’m sorry if that disappoints the general.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t tell him.” She smiles then, and I’m relieved that we seem to have reached a better understanding of each other. “Now,” she says, straightening up and stepping away from the doorway. “Where does food rank on your list of motivators? Because if we don’t move soon, all the good stuff will be gone from breakfast.”

“Oh, it’s high,” I say with faux seriousness and follow her out of my room.

The dining hall is immense, with a series of galleries running around it and chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling, made from clusters of glass orbs. When I look closer, I can see that the orbs are lit with bright white lightning crackling inside them.

We plate up our food from a long banquet table at one end. I hesitate for a moment, remembering Viz’s exasperated words of warning during my first breakfast in Infernum.

I’m not so worried about the food here; it looks more similar to Stratan fare, and I am part ephilium, but the memory catches me out anyway. They’d been looking out for me from the beginning—keeping me safe and comfortable, even if I thought danger was lurking around every corner back then. Whereas here⁠—